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SI42c 


RPORAL  DAY 

^^ 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


CORPORAL  DAY 

A  NEW  ENGLAND  IDYL 


Corporal  Day 


CHARLES  HENRY 
SxJOHN 


VERI 
TATI 


BOSTON:  RICHARD  G.  BADGER 


Copyright  1904  by  CHARLES  HENRY  STJOHN 


All  rights  reserved 


PRINTED  AT 

THE  GORHAH  PRESS 

BOSTON,  U.  S.  A. 


Kind  Reader,  before  you  begin,  let  me  say, 

By  way  of  a  Proem,  that  "  Corporal  Day  " 

Was  written  at  first  to  be  spoken  aloud 

In  a  hall  to  a  friendly,  uncritical  crowd, 

And  not  to  be  judged  by  the  absolute  rules 

Of  classical  Prosody  taught  in  the  schools; 

So  if  you  will  please  bear  this  statement  in  mind, 

You  may  find  fewer  faults  than  you'd  otherwise  find. 


904063 


CORPORAL  DAY 


I 

In  a  beautiful  region  of  valleys  and  hills, 
Of  wide-spreading  meadows  and  murmuring  rills, 
Is  a  picturesque  village,  whose  principal  street 
Is  shaded  with  elms,  whose  branches  meet 
Like  a  gothic  aisle,  where  the  heavens  are  seen 
In  glimpses  of  azure  thro'  curtains  of  green. 
A  church  on  the  hill  lifts  its  finger  above 
And  silently  points  to  the  mansions  of  Love. 
Two  or  three  stores  are  enough  to  supply 
The  people  with  all  they  desire  to  buy; 
While  up  from  the  stream  at  the  foot  of  the  hill 
Comes  ever  the  rumbling  roll  of  the  mill. 

So  far  from  the  track  of  the  world  does  it  lie, 
No  fiery  engine  goes  thundering  by; 
Not  even  the  nerves  of  the  telegraph  reach 
The  somnolent  brain  of  the  village,  to  teach 
The  people  of  all  that  is  stirring  without 
In  the  great  busy  world  with  its  rabble  and  rout. 
Two  or  three  newspapers  come  in  the  bags 
Of  the  mail,  when  it  comes,  that  are  fingered  to 
rags 


Corporal  Day 

Ere  the  next  ones  arrive  with  their  wonderful  lies 
To  open  the  innocent  villagers'  eyes. 

Such  a  welcome  retreat,  where  slumber  is  sweet, 
Is  indeed  very  rarely  one's  fortune  to  greet: 
So  vastly  unlike  where  the  children  of  Fashion 
Invade  for  the  summer  to  squander  their  cash  in ! 
This  lone  little  Eden  they  never  come  near; 
In  fact,  there  is  naught  to  inveigle  them  there: 
No  "mineral"  humbug  for  people  to  drink  — 
Poor  broken-down  roues,  who  foolishly  think 
That  three  months  of  water,  without  and  within, 
Will  remedy  nine  months  of  folly  and  sin ! 
So,  with  nothing  to  coax  the  shoddyfied  folks, 
The  natives  are  innocent,  guileless,  and  kind, 
Though  to  saving  their  pennies  some  little  inclined. 

Well,  such  was  our  village  some  seasons  ago, 
And  Blackberry  Centre  its  name,  you  must  know : 
A  quiet,  unchanging,  conservative  place, 
Where  life  was  a  rest,  not  a  mad  steeplechase; 
Where  no  one  was  wealthy  and  no  one  was  poor, 
And  nobody  fastened  his  window  or  door; 
And  the  girls  wore  the  fashions  of  one  year  be 
fore. 


10 


'Twas  a  clean,  healthy  place,  tho',  perhaps,  to  the 

crusty, 

The  street  in  the  summer  may  seem  rather  dusty; 
But  the  water  was  pure  and  so  was  the  air, 
And  the  burdens  of  life  seemed  easy  to  bear. 

A  neat  little  cottage,  set  back  from  the  road 
Some  ten  or  twelve  steps,  was  the  peaceful  abode 
Of  a  fair  little  maiden  called  Caroline  Gray; 
While  over  the  way, — 
In  the  general  store 
Of  Jonathan  More, — 

Was  a  clerk  of  the  name  of  Absalom  Day,  — 
A  strapping  fine  fellow,  who,  here  let  me  say, 
Was  engaged  to  this  fair  little  Caroline  Gray. 
At  least,  to  the  village  'twas  very  well  known; 

For  in  Blackberry  Centre  this  marvel  was  true, 

That  most  people  knew 
Much  more  of  their  neighbors'  affairs  than  their 

own ! 

Whatever  one  did,  or  said,  or  tried, 
Somehow  or  other,  was  sure  to  be  spied! 
There  wasn't  a  man,  or  woman,  or  child  — 
Old  or  young,  sober  or  wild  — 
From  the  day  he  was  born  to  the  hour  he  died, 


11 


Corporal  Day 

But  was  known  through  all  the  countryside. 
There  wasn't  a  man  but  could  tell  to  a  mill 
The  exact  amount  in  his  neighbor's  till, 
And  whether  he  paid  his  doctor's  bill; 
What  insurance  was  on  his  life, 
And  how  much  money  he  gave  his  wife ; 
Why  he  came  to  the  church  so  late, 
And  how  many  pennies  he  put  on  the  plate. 
And  so,  of  course,  when  matters  so  small 
As  these,  in  the  Centre,  were  known  to  all, 
The  fact  that  the  teacher,  Caroline  Gray, 
Encouraged  the  hopes  of  Absalom  Day, 
Was  as  plain  to  all  the  Blackberry  people 
As  the  gilded  vane  of  the  orthodox  steeple. 
Nay,  even  their  wedding-day  was  known 
To  everyone  —  but  themselves  alone; 
While  whispering  gossips  wondered  that  she 
"Should  pick  up  a  clerk  in  the  store  like  he!' 
But  neither  cared  a  single  cent 
For  all  that  was  said,  whatever  was  meant. 
They  went  their  ways, 

And  dreamed  their  dreams; 
They  said  their  says, 

And  schemed  their  schemes. 
And  oh!  what  castles  in  Spain  they  scanned, 


12 


As,  slowly  loitering,  hand  in  hand, 
They  saw  the  summits  of  promise  rise 
Like  golden  clouds  in  the  crimson  skies; 
While  all  the  future  before  them  lay  — 
One  balmy,  blissful,  endless  May! 
They  saw  a  church,  and  before  the  rail 
A  handsome  youth  and  a  maiden  pale. 
(The  maiden  pale  was  Caroline  Gray 
And  the  handsome  youth  was  Absalom  Day.) 
And  they  saw  a  farm  in  that  fairy  land, 
With  flourishing  fields  on  every  hand; 
And  shady  groves  and  orchards  rare, 
Whose  bloom  lent  fragrance  to  the  air; 
And  a  beautiful  cottage  where  roses  twine, 
And  a  horse  or  two,  and  a  couple  of  kine, 
A  little  fat  pig,  and  a  dog  and  a  cat, 
And  ducks  and  geese,  and  chickens  and  that; 
And  of  course  that  all  these  things,  you  know, 
Belonged  to  Absalom  Day  &  Co. 
And  furthermore,  before  the  door 
Of  the  cottage,  they  saw — well,  less  than  a  score- 
Say  three  little  cherubs  with  brightest  eyes, 
Down  in  a  mud-puddle  making  pies. 


13 


Corporal  Day 

Ah,  don't  we  remember  that  sweet  long-ago, 

When  we,  now  so  solemn,  were  acting  just  so! 

When  down  in  the  firelight,  vivid  and  plain, 

We  gazed  at  our  wonderful  castles  in  Spain! 

What  lovely  creations  we  saw  in  those  dreams! 

What  emerald  meadows!    what  mountains   and 
streams ! 

Where  naught  but  enchantment  our  eyes  did  be 
hold, 

Where  the  rivulets  rippled  o'er  pebbles  of  gold, 

Where    Beauty    displayed   her    most    exquisite 
charms, 

And  Pleasure  enfolded  in  rapturous  arms! 

No  dangers  appall  us,  no  sorrows  enshroud, 

'Neath  the  burden  of  labor  we  ne'er  should  be 
bowed ; 

Where  all  we  may  sigh  for  we  surely  shall  gain, 

No  summit  so  lofty  we  may  not  attain; 

Where  honors  are  strewn  like  the  leaves  of  the 
grove, 

And  glories  illume  us  wherever  we  rove. 

So  real  they  seemed, 

We  knew  not  we  dreamed; 

We  felt  not  we  saw  in  the  embers  that  gleamed 

With  a  glow  growing  dimmer 


14 


A  New  England  Idyl 


Each  moment,  the  shimmer 

That  fashions  the  fanciful  visions  of  youth; 

Till  Time  told  the  truth, — 

That  all  these  warm  tintings  were  airy  and  vain; 

Then  vanished  for  ever  those  castles  in  Spain! 

But  let  us  return  to  Absalom  Day, 
Of  whom,  I'm  sorry  to  have  to  say 
That  his  pocket  was  short,  though  his  limbs  were 

long  — 
His  means   were   weak,   though   his   arms   were 

strong ; 

And  everyone  knew  that  he  scarce  could  pay 
His  current  expenses,  while  Caroline  Gray 
For  years  conducted  the  village  school, 
And,  of  course,  had  a  trifle  laid  away, 
As  the  saying  is,  for  a  rainy  day. 
So  everyone  said,  "  She  would  be  a  fool 
For  to  go  and  throw  herself  away 
On  such  a  fellow  as  Absalom  Day." 

But  isn't  this  always  how  people  prate 
When  youthful  love  and  beauty  mate? 
As  if  your  love  was  a  nugget  of  gold, 


15 


Corporal  Day 

To  be  coined  into  dollars,  or  bought  and  sold 
In  the  common  market  like  butter  and  cheese, 
And  eggs  and  pork,  and  things  like  these. 
Now  Absalom  very  well  knew  indeed 
What  people  said;  for  couldn't  he  read 
The  scornful  looks  that  were  always  cast 
By  certain  parties  whene'er  they  passed,  — 
Carrie  and  he,  —  with  talk  like  this, 
As  full  of  spite  as  a  serpent's  hiss: 
"And  he  so  poor!" 

"  Why,  land !   you  know 
Young  fools  will  always  be  doing  so." 
"That's  right!"  chimes  in  some  ancient  maid, 
"  'Tis  a  wonder  to  me  she  isn't  afraid 
Of  coming  to  want;  you  wouldn't  catch  me! 
Oh,  no!" 

But  then  she  happens  to  see 
That  Absalom  caught  the  word  she  said, 
And  so  the  tip  of  her  nose  grew  red, 
(Which  was  all  the  blushing  that  came  to  view) 
As  she  tries  to  stammer  out,  "  How  d'you  do?  " 
When  Absalom  Day 
In  reply  may  say, 
"Not  much  the  better,  old  maid,  for  you!" 


16 


A  New  England  Idyl 


Now  Absalom  Day,  like  a  Scottish  laird, 

Though  poor,  was  certainly  proud; 
And  his  was  a  heart  not  easily  scared, 

And  a  head  not  easily  bowed; 
And  yet  he  was  only,  as  said  before, 
A  humble  clerk  in  the  country  store, 
Where  all  was  sold  —  and  a  little  more: 
Pins  and  pipes,  and  tea  and  nails, 
Sugar  and  ribbon,  flannel  and  pails, 
Boots  and  butter,  and  tops  and  tape, 
Whiting  and  blacking,  molasses  and  crape, 
Corn  and  crockery,  leather  and  drugs, 
Syrup  for  babes  and  poison  for  bugs, 
Pork  and  peppermints,  pens  and  ink, 
And,  out  of  a  demijohn,  "  suthin'  to  drink." 
Where  once  a  day  the  stage-coach  stopped 
And  down  a  meagre  mail-bag  dropped, 
Which  Jonathan  More,  who  kept  the  store, 
With  grim,  official  visage  bore 
Behind  the  counter,  into  a  niche 
Sacred  to  letters,  papers,   and  "  sich." 
'Twas  the  grand  exchange  for  scandal  and  news, 
And  a  wonderful  place  to  cure  the  blues; 
For  there  from  morn  till  nine  or  ten 
You'd  generally  find  the  leading  men, 


17 


Corporal  Day 

The  men  who  held  official  station  — 
(You'd  think,  indeed,  they  ruled  the  nation!) 
Deacon  Dodd  and  Father  Hobb, 
And  queer  old  Uncle  Nathan  Cobb, 
Captain  Keene  of  martial  mien, 
And  the  village  infidel,  Orville  Green. 
You'd  see  them  all  some  frosty  night, 
When  snow  is  crisp  and  stars  are  bright, 
As  round  the  red-hot  stove  they  sit, 
And  talk  and  smoke  and  chew  and  spit, 
And  spin  their  yarns  of  this  and  that, 
From  Hobbses'  farm  to  Cobbses'  cat. 

Well,  such  was  the  place  where  Absalom  Day 
Wore  the  prime  of  his  youth  away; 
Till,  by-and-by,  he  began  to  say, 
"  This  kind  of  life  will  never  pay. 
I'll  toss  my  bundle  upon  my  back, 
And  off  I'll  tramp  to  the  railroad  track, 
And  take  the  cars  for  Boston,  where 
I'll  make  my  fortune,  and  then  appear 
Sudden,  some  morn,  to  charming  Carrie 
And  ask  her  right  away  to  marry; 
And  then  how  all  the  village  will  stare! 
Ha !   ha !   who  says  that  Absalom  Day 


18 


A  New  England  Idyl 


Doesn't  know  how  to  make  his  way?" 
And  then  would  Absalom  nod  and  wink, 
And  smile  to  himself  till  his  eyes  did  blink 
In  the  bright  effulgence  of  his  dreams, 
His  radiant  hopes  and  brilliant  schemes. 

So  time  wore  on  from  week  to  week 
Ere  Absalom  had  the  heart  to  speak 
Or  even  hint  of  his  great  design 
To  his  unsuspecting  Caroline. 
At  last  there  came  a  heavenly  night 
When  moonbeams  sifted  silv'ry  light 

Among  the  slumb'ring  trees, 
And  the  dreamy  scent  of  violets  blent 

With  the  softly-sighing  breeze. — 
A  heavenly  night!    But  what  do  you  think? 
All  of  a  sudden,  Absalom  Day 
Declared  that  he  was  going  away 
To  seek  his  fortune !     No  wonder  the  pink 
Grew  pale  on  the  cheek  of  Caroline  Gray 
As  she  heard  the  news  in  dumb  dismay; 
For  a  thunder-clap  out  of  cloudless  skies 
Could  never  have  given  her  more  surprise! 
But  only  those  who  have  felt  the  smart 
Of  crudest  Cupid's  poisoned  dart 
Can  know  how  hard  it  was  to  part. 


19 


Corporal  Day 


So  they  promised  to  dream  of  each  other  each 

night, 

And  every  day  a  letter  to  write, 
And  vowed  their  love  could  never  be  bought 
For  silver  or  gold  —  and  so  they  thought; 
Then,  suffering  more  than  tongue  could  tell, 
They  bade  each  other  a  last  farewell. 


Three  wearisome  weeks  had  dragged  away 

Since  first  to  the  "  Hub  "  came  Absalom  Day, 

When  he  found  to  his  grief  he  had  scarcely  cash 

Enough  to  pay  for  his  attic  and  hash. 

No  wonder  he  tossed  on  his  sleepless  bed 

With  a  failing  heart  and  a  feverish  head, 

As  he  saw  that  his  prospects  had  "  gone  to  smash !  " 

Yet  never  a  word  did  he  dare  to  write 

To  Caroline  Gray  of  his  terrible  plight; 

Nor  did  he  dream  of  her  scarce  one  night 

But  he  was  sure  to  wake  in  a  fright. 

Ah!   then  was  the  time  to  test  and  settle 

The  strength  and  weight  of  Absalom's  mettle; 

Then  was  the  chance  to  gauge  his  mind, — 

Whether  'twas  one  of  the  stronger  kind, 

Whether  his  bark  would  breast  the  wave, 

Or  speedily  sink  in  a  nameless  grave. 

'Twas  a  rainy  night;  in  fact,  all  day 
The  rain  came  down  in  a  drizzling  way; 
And  the  wind  was  east,  and  chilly  at  that, 
And  everyone  felt  as  cross  as  a  cat; 
When  every  jaw  with  a  hollow  stump 
Did  ache  and  shoot  and  twinge  and  jump; 


21 


Corporal  Day 

And  you  know  it  requires  the  saintliest  grace 
To  be  calm  and  sweet  with  a  swollen  face. 
And  some  with  "  dyspepsy  "  groaned  and  growled, 
And  more  with  "  rheumatiz  "  hopp'd  and  howled; 
While  others  had  bunions,  corns,  and  sprains, 
And  all  the  hundred  thousand  pains 
That  plague  poor  mortals  when  it  rains. 
'Twas  just  the  weather  you  "  feel  like  fight,"  — 
When  sweet  is  bitter  and  day  is  night, 
And  nothing  at  all  will  come  out  right. 
'Twas  a  rainy  night,  and  Absalom  Day 

Was  just  as  tired  as  he  could  be; 
He  had  searched  since  dawn  in  every  way, 

And  never  a  prospect  could  he  see,  — 
Except  the  prospect  of  roofs  and  rows 
Of  chimney-pots  and  fluttering  "  clo'es," 
With  the  patch  of  sky  above  his  head 
About  the  color  of  rusty  lead. 
'Twas  down  in  one  of  those  blighted  streets 

That  once  was  tony  and  smart  and  fine, 

But  gradually  sunk  in  a  slow  decline, 
Till  "  Rooms  to  Let "  the  stranger  greets 
In  many  a  pane,  and  where  you'll  find 
Doctors'  shingles  of  every  kind, — 
Cures  by  lifting  and  cures  by  shaking, 


22 


A  New  England  Idyl 


Cures  by  boiling  and  cures  by  baking, 
Cures  by  drenching  and  cures  by  drugging, 
Cures  by  pounding  and  cures  by  hugging, 
Cures  in  the  light  by  electric  spark, 
And  cures  by  spirits  in  the  dark. 
'Twas  here,  in  a  dingy,  underground  room, 
That  looked  more  like  a  receiving  tomb 
Than  a  festive  hall,  where  Absalom  ate 
His  hash  and  pie,  and  daily  met 
A  score  or  so  of  wretched  creatures 
With  hungry  looks  and  bloodless  features; 
Where  sour  sauce  distorts  the  eye 
And  painted  paste  is  "  punkin-pie  " ; 
Where  soda  biscuits,  green  as  lizards, 
Take  the  coating  off  their  gizzards ! 
Ah,  how  unlike  the  toothsome  food 

His  mother  served  him  day  by  day, — 
So  clean  and  wholesome,  plain  but  good, — 

Among  the  mountains  far  away! 
Alas,  how  far !  —  his  boyhood's  home,  — 
Beneath  the  blue,  unclouded  dome, 
Amid  the  meadows  green  and  wide, 
With  lakes  and  woods  on  every  side. 
And  how  unlike  his  room  —  his  bed 
With  snowy  sheet  and  patchwork  spread; 


23 


Corporal  Day 

With  matted  floor  and  easy-chair 

Beside  the  window  that  let  in  the  air 

Laden  with  odors  of  flower  and  tree, 

Warble  of  bird  and  murmur  of  bee ! 

Ah,  how  unlike  indeed!     But  when 

He  thought  of  the  many  famous  men, — 

The  country  boys,  —  who  made  their  way 

To  wealth  and  honor,  he  would  say, 

"And  what's  to  hinder  Absalom  Day? 

With  Yankee  grit  and  a  Yankee  brain, 

What  is  the  prize  I  may  not  gain?" 

But,  climbing  up  to  his  cheerless  room, 

Depressed  each  night  with  deep'ning  gloom, 

His  roll  of  banknotes  growing  slimmer, 

The  lustre  of  his  clothing  dimmer, 

He  scarce  perceives  the  faintest  glimmer 

Of  hope  or  help  this  side  the  tomb. 

No  friend  had  he  to  back  him  then, 

As  "friends"  are  only  for  fortunate  men; 

And  still  too  proud  to  tell  his  grief 

To  the  one  who  would  gladly  lend  relief. 


So  there  was  the  battle  for  him  to  fight, 
That  called  out  all  his  mind  and  might; 
There  was  the  trial  for  him  to  meet, — 


24 


A  New  England  Idyl 


The  tempter  to  trample  beneath  his  feet. 

'Tis  easy  to  guide  the  bark  aright 

When  winds  are  fair  and  skies  are  bright, 

But  when  the  storm-king  rules  the  wave, 

Then  must  the  pilot  be  skilled  and  brave. 

He  is  a  hero  who  risks  his  life 

For  his  country's  good  on  the  field  of  strife; 

He  is  a  hero  who  bears  his  flag 

Till  naught  is  left  but  a  tattered  rag; 

He  is  a  hero  who  lifts  his  arm 

To  shield  his  fellow  from  fatal  harm; 

He  is  a  hero  who  buffets  the  wave 

To  pluck  a  soul  from  a  watery  grave,  — 

Who  climbs  the  ladder  with  stifled  breath 

To  snatch  a  babe  from  a  fiery  death. 

Yes ;  heroes  these,  sublime  and  grand,  — 

The  pride  and  boast  of  the  proudest  land; 

But  greater  than  all  is  the  nameless  youth 

Whose  only  weapon  's  the  spotless  Truth,  — 

Who  laughs  to  scorn  the  tempter's  power, 

And  stands  by  the  Right  in  danger's  hour. 

In  Blackberry  Centre,  you  know,  we  left 
A  dear  little  maid  of  her  lover  bereft. 
How  slowly  and  sadly  the  days  went  by, 


25 


Corporal  Day 


You  could  plainly  read  in  her  pensive  eye. 

But  what  gave  Caroline  most  concern 

Was  to  think  that  nothing  of  him  could  she  learn. 

And  yet  he  promised  each  day  to  write, 

As  well  as  to  dream  of  her  every  night; 

But  now  some  weeks  had  passed  away, 

With  never  a  word  from  Absalom  Day. 

She  knew  he  had  reached  the  city  all  right, 

For  he  sent  her  a  postal  that  very  same  night. 

But  whether  since  then  'twas  ill  or  well 

With  Absalom  Day,  she  could  not  tell. 

Sometimes  a  spark  of  jealousy  came 

And  burned  in  her  heart  with  a  greenish  flame: 

"  Oh,  can  it  be  possible  he  has  met 

Some  Boston  girl !     Could  he  thus  forget 

So  soon  the  sacred  vows  he  made? 

Can  love  so  bright  so  quickly  fade? 

Oh,  no  !     Oh,  no  !     It  cannot  be ! 

My  Absalom  still  is  true  to  me." 

And  so,  with  her  head  on  her  hand  at  rest, 

She  watched  the  sun  sink  down  in  the  west, 

And  the  birds  in  pairs  come  home  to  their  nest. 

And  then  she  gazed,  with  a  yearning  eye, 

On  the  hills  they  had  climbed  in  the  days  gone  by; 


26 


A  New  England  Idyl 


And  she  thought  of  the  schemes  they  had  planned 

for  life, 
When   she   should   be   somebody's   "  own   little 

wife"; 

And  the  stars  looked  sad  as  they  throbbed  on  high, 
And  the  night-winds  passed  with  a  gentle  sigh; 
And  Caroline's  eyes  were  dim  with  tears, 
For  her  soul  was  sick  with  doubts  and  fears. 
"  Oh,  no !  "  she  sobbed;  "  it  never  can  be. 
My  Absalom  still  is  true  to  me." 
So  thinking  it  over,  at  last  she  guessed 
The  trouble  that  Absalom  hadn't  confessed. 
She  knew  how  slender  the  chance  he  had  — 
A  modest,  friendless,  country  lad  — 
To  reach  the  goal  and  grasp  the  prize 
That  dazzles  so  many  ambitious  eyes. 
She  knew  right  well  of  the  struggle  and  strife 
He  had  to  encounter  in  city  life; 
She  fancied  him  jostled  from  side  to  side, 
Weary  in  limb  and  wounded  in  pride, 
And  what,  perhaps,  was  worse  than  all, 
She  guessed  that  his  means  were  growing  small. 
So  ere  that  night  she  slept  a  wink, 
She  took  her  paper  and  pen  and  ink, 


27 


Corporal  Day 

And  wrote  such  a  sweet,  affectionate  note 

As  would  make  one's  heart  leap  up  in  one's  throat. 

We  flatter  ourselves,  we  bearded  boys, 
That  we  are  deep,  and  can  conceal 
All  that  we  know  and  do  and  feel,  — - 

Our  business  troubles  and  club-house  joys,  — 
From  the  innocent  creatures  who  pour  our  tea; 
But  believe  me,  friend,  that  they  can  see 
Right  through  and  through  both  you  and  me. 
As  if  your  clove  or  cardamom  seed 
Could  hide  your  guilt  in  wine  and  weed! 
Ah!    foolish  mortal,  do  you  suppose 
That  only  to  smell  the  scent  of  a  rose, 
And  not  the  odor  that  's  in  your  clothes, 
She's  got  that  cute  little,  pert  little  nose? 
Oh,  no,  my  friend!   your  screen  is  glass, 
Through  which  she  sees  that  you  are,  alas ! 
By  no  means  the  lion  you  think  within, 
But  a  long-eared  "  critter  "  in  lion's  skin. 
So  don't  you  ever  presume  to  hide 
Your  fear,  or  shame,  or  sorrow,  or  pride 
From  the  rib  that  was  taken  out  of  your  side. 
'Tis  hers  to  help  you  in  life,  and  to  share 
Not  only  your  joy  but  also  your  care. 


28 


The  problem  that  gives  you  weeks  of  pain 
She  may  solve  with  a  flash  of  her  finer  brain; 
She  may  not  reason  so  well  as  you, 
But  her  scissors  can  cut  the  knot  in  two. 
Nay,  even  the  one  that  's  to  be  your  bride, 
'Twere  well  she  could  know  the  shady  side 
Of  your  character  ere  the  knot  is  tied; 
As,  doubtless,  'twould  save  you  each  a  life 
Of  sad  disillusion  and  endless  strife. 

So  now  to  Absalom  let  us  fly, 
Who  slept  that  night  as  sweet  as  a  child; 

And  when  he  awoke  the  sun  was  high, 
And  Nature's  self  rejoiced  and  smiled. 
And  Absalom  felt  refreshed  and  bright, 
His  head  was  clear  and  his  heart  was  light; 
For  he  seemed  to  hear  down  deep  in  his  soul 
A  murmur  of  hope,  like  the  far-away  roll 
Of  the  ocean  that  stretches  from  pole  to  pole. 
So  while  he  was  dressing  the  postman  came, 
And  Absalom  heard  him  shout  his  name; 
When  down  he  ran  with  a  rosy  hue 
And  found  a  letter  from  —  you  know  who! 
'Twas  one  of  those  neat  little  tinted  billets, 
Smelling  as  if  it  had  lain  among  lilies, 


Corporal  Day 

And  sealed  with  a  silver  "  C." 

"Ah,  yes!  "  said  Ab,  "this  note  's  for  me." 

Then,  with  a  bound,  he  climbed  the  stairs 

And  carefully  closed  his  chamber  door; 
And  when  the  cover  he  nervously  tears, 

A  ten-dollar  bill  falls  down  on  the  floor  I 

A  ten-dollar  bill  and  a  love-letter  too! 
Suppose  such  a  fortune  should  fall  to  you, 
My  fellow-sufferer,  what  would  you  do? 
No  victor  that  ever  redeemed  his  land, 
No  hero  that  comes  with  a  rescuing  hand, 
No  prophet  that  ever  the  future  foretold, 
No  angel  that  came  to  the  martyr  of  old, 
E'er  brought  to  a  soul  such  a  healing  ray 
As  did  that  letter  to  Absalom  Day. 


Ill 


Well,  time  rolled  on,  and  nothing  yet 
Turned  up  to  save  our  friend  from  debt; 
Altho'  the  secret  of  wealth  to  find 
Deeply  exercised  Absalom's  mind. 
He  sought  with  diligence  far  and  wide, 
And  left  no  feasible  way  untried  — 
No  door  unlocked,  no  stone  unturned, 
By  which  a  dollar  may  be  earned. 
He  heard  of  many  an  easy  way  — 
A  royal  road  to  wealth,  I  may  say; 
But  none  of  them  suited  Absalom  Day. 
So  things  look'd  dark  on  every  hand; 
For  tho'  he  lived  in  a  mighty  land 
His  only  share  of  it  seemed  to  be 
A  narrow  strip  six  feet  by  three. 

But  that  was  the  summer  of  'Sixty-One, 
When  the  world  was  startled  with  Sumter's  gun, 
When  America  saw,  with  indignant  eyes, 
The  serried  ranks  of  the  Rebel  rise; 
When  there  was  work  for  the  loyal  and  true, 
And  thousands  found  enough  to  do. 
Now  Absalom  Day  was  among  the  first 

31 


Corporal  Day 

To  heed  the  call,  tho'  he  had  no  thirst 

For  a  hero's  fame  or  a  soldier's  life, 

Nor  was  he  a  strenuous  lover  of  strife; 

But  he  was  a  Yankee  thro'  and  thro', 

So  he  joined  the  ranks  of  the  u  Boys  in  Blue.' 

The  ranks  are  full  —  the  hour  has  come; 
Now  screams  the  fife  and  rolls  the  drum. 
Thro'  cheering  crowds  the  legions  tread, 
"  Old  Glory  "  waving  o'er  their  head. 
And  as  they  march  in  stern  array, 
With  silent  lips,  they  seem  to  say, 
"  Farewell,  dear  mother,  child,  and  wife ! 
Farewell,  sweet  home !     Tho'  sweet  is  life, 
To  save  our  Land  is  sweeter  far. 
March  on!     Behold  the  guiding  star! 
March  on,  march  on  for  God  and  Right, 
Till  northern  hilltops  sink  from  sight; 
March  on,  till  old  Virginia  sees 
Our  banners  waving  in  the  breeze." 

Of  all  the  boys  in  the  corps,  they  say, 
There  was  no  better  than  Corporal  Day; 
Generous,  noble,  kind,  and  true, 
Brave  to  dare  and  ready  to  do, 
Above  all  mean  and  selfish  ways, 
On  every  lip  was  the  corporal's  praise. 


32 


A  New  England  Idyl 


And  now,  encamped  on  the  plain,  they  await, 
Week  after  week,  the  signal  of  Fate. 

Some  are  sitting,  some  are  standing, 

Some  are  fishing  in  the  lake, 
Some  are  sound  asleep  and  dreaming, 

Others  dreaming  wide  awake; 
Some  are  patching  up  their  tatters, 

Others  polishing  their  guns; 
Some  are  reading  ragged  volumes, 

Others  popping  sorry  puns; 
Each  is  using  his  endeavor 

Thus  to  pass  the  time  away; 
All  are  waiting,  all  are  ready, 

All  are  eager  for  the  fray, 
When  there  came  one  morn  a  murmur 

Like  the  rising  of  the  gale, 
"  Corporal  Day  has  got  a  letter 

From  his  sister  by  the  mail ! " 
"Hi!   a  letter,  boys  —  a  letter!" 

And  each  man  is  on  his  feet. 
"Corporal  Day  has  got  a  letter!" 

How  they  scamper  up  the  street ! 
Oh,  a  letter  from  New  England! 

'Tis  an  angel  from  the  skies. 


33 


Corporal  Day 


Some  are  running  up  and  shouting, 

Others  stand  with  tearful  eyes. 
So  they  gather  round  the  corporal, 

Like  fishes  round  the  bait, — 
All  hungering  for  the  contents 

Of  a  letter  three  weeks  late. 
"Now  please  to  read  it,  Corporal; 

Let  us  hear  it  —  every  word!" 
For  the  crackle  of  the  paper 

Was  the  only  sound  they  heard; 
Ah,  but  even  that  was  music, 

And  no  sweeter  could  there  be, 
For  it  brought  the  leafy  rustle 

Of  their  dear  old  trysting-tree ! 
So  at  last,  in  husky  accents, 

Does  he  read  it,  line  by  line, 
As  it  tells  about  the  corn-crop, 

And  the  orchard  and  the  vine,  — 
As  it  speaks  of  mother's  troubles, 

And  of  something  father  said; 
How  that  Sally  Smith  is  married, 

And  Jemima  Jenkins  dead;, 
How  that  Jane  has  had  a  baby, 

And  the  Jersey  cow  a  calf; 
And  of  how  they're  all  so  lonesome 


34 


A  New  England  Idyl 


That  one  seldom  hears  a  laugh. 
Even  to  the  very  postscript, 

Does  he  read  the  letter  through; 
Then  he  waves  it  like  a  banner, 

So  that  all  might  have  a  view. 
Yes,  for  hours  they  could  have  listened, 

As  too  brief,  alas!   it  seems; 
But  it  keeps  them  long  a-talking, 

And  it  lengthens  out  their  dreams; 
For  their  feet  in  fancy  wander 

O'er  the  hills  they  know  so  well, 
And  they  linger  'neath  the  roof-tree 

Where  their  hearts'  affections  dwell. 

'Twas  just  in  the  gray 
Of  a  warm  summer  day 
When  "Forward!"  was  heard; 
And  the  word 

Put  all  the  long  columns  in  motion, 
Like  billows  that  sweep  o'er  the  ocean. 
Each  thought  of  the  one  that  he  loved, 
As  o'er  the  green  meadows  they  moved. 
They  waded  the  stream  and  were  mounting  the 

hill, 

When  over  their  flags  came  the  shrill 
And  chirruping  patter  of  bullets,  and  then 


35 


Corporal  Day 


On  the  crest  of  the  bluff  the  gray  figures  of  men 

'Mid  puffs  of  blue  smoke. 

Then  suddenly  broke 

A  thunder-cloud  over  each  head 

With  a  tempest  of  fire  and  lead; 

And  so  for  long  hours  it  raged  till  the  dead 

Lay  in  heaps  on  the  bank,  and  the  river  ran  red. 

Wounded  and  fainting,  and  carried  away, 

Full  soon  in  the  action  fell  Corporal  Day. 


With  a  fluttering  heart  and  a  tremulous  hand, 
Poor  Caroline  Gray  —  as  pale  as  a  ghost  — 
Opened  the  paper  that  came  by  post, 

And  glanced  o'er  the  tidings  that  darkened  the 

land; 

When  breathless,  bewildered,  and  reeling,  she  read 
Her  Absalom's  name  with  the  wounded  and  dead ! 

'Tis  enough!     'Tis  enough!     No  need  to  be  told 
Of  the  dark  clouds  of  anguish  that  over  her  rolled, 
Of  her  hours  of  loneliness,  sorrow,  and  pain, 
Of  the  fiery  fever  that  burned  in  her  brain, 
Of  her  slow-coming  strength,  of  her  heart-hidden 
grief, 


36 


A  New  England  Idvl 


Of  the  angels  of  mercy  that  brought  her  relief. 
Oh !   never  again  may  America  know 
The  anguish  and  horror,  the  want  and  the  woe, 
The  desolate  hearts  of  that  terrible  day 
When,  armed  for  the  conflict,  the  Blue  met  the 
Gray. 

Now  Blackberry  Centre  one  morning  was  thrown 
Into   wondrous   surprise   when   the   tidings   were 

known 

That  Caroline  Gray  had  vanished  away, 
And  as  to  her  whereabouts  no  one  could  say. 
The  children  came  to  the  school,  to  find 
Locked  was  the  door  and  closed  the  blind. 
Some  waited  in  wonder,  and  some  in  grief, 
And  some  of  them  uttered  a  sigh  of  relief; 
Till,  one  by  one,  they  wandered  away, 
Wondering,  "Where  is  the  teacher  today!  " 
And  soon  the  village  began  to  stir, 
And  search  on  every  side  for  her,  — 
Led  on  by  Dodd  and  Father  Hobb, 
And  queer  old  Uncle  Nathan  Cobb, 
Captain  Keene  of  martial  mien, 
And  the  village  infidel,  Orville  Green. 


37 


Corporal  Day 

They   searched   the  school,   they   ransacked   her 

room, 

They  even  tapped  on  the  family  tomb; 
They  dragged  the  river,  they  scoured  the  plain, 
They  beat  the  forest;  but  all  in  vain! 
They  peeked  and  poked  in  every  place, 
But  failed  to  find  one  track  or  trace 
Of  Caroline's  hand,  or  foot,  or  face. 
At  last  they  all  began  to  say 
That  Carrie  must  have  been  carried  away 
By  a  patent-medicine  vender,  who 
Had  disappeared  that  morning,  too. 
He  was  a  singular  sort  of  a  chap, 
With  a  cutaway  coat  and  a  velvet  cap, 
A  waxed  moustache  and  a  sallow  skin, 
And  coal-black  eyes  that  looked  like  sin; 
His  head  was  covered  with  shining  curls, 
His  teeth  were  white  and  even  as  pearls, 
And  he  always  joked  with  the  prettiest  girls. 
His  voice  was  soft  and,  indeed,  I  must  say 
That  he  certainly  had  a  winning  way, — 
Winning  enough  to  dispose  of  a  lot 
Of  his  worthless  trash;  for  I  guess  there  was  not 
A  house  in  the  village  in  which,  I  am  sure, 
You  couldn't  have  found  a  bottle  or  more, 


38 


A  New  England  Idyl 


And  warranted  all  diseases  to  cure. 

The  case  was  plain  to  the  Blackberry  people 

As  the  gilded  vane  of  the  orthodox  steeple. 

At  least  'twas  plain  to  Dodd  and  Hobb, 

And  queer  old  Uncle  Nathan  Cobb, 

Who  being  the  wealthiest  men  in  the  place, 

Of  course,  to  the  rest,  'twas  a  settled  case. 

And  so  they  met  in  the  village  store 

And  talked  the  matter  o'er  and  o'er. 

One  said  he  "  always  thought  that  Carrie 

Seemed  in  a  wonderful  hurry  to  marry; 

And  only  for  Prudence  Flint,  they  say, 

She'd  gone  and  married  that  Absalom  Day." 

Says  Nathan  Cobb,  with  a  knowing  wink, 

"The  gals  be  all  in  a  hurry,  I  think." 

"Amen  to  that,"  groaned  Deacon  Dodd; 

"  But  then,  to  my  mind,  'tis  mighty  odd 

Why  sich  a  sensible  gal  should  go 

For  to  run  away  with  a  peddler  so." 

"Ah,  yes !  "  says  Hobb,  "  but  thar's  none  kin  tell 

What  a  woman  is  till  you  knows  her  well." 

"That's  so,"  moaned  Dodd;  "without  a  doubt, 

They're  all  very  nice  till  they're  found  out." 

Says  Nathan  Cobb,  "  I'm  inclined  to  say 

She's  gone  a-huntin'  fur  Abs'lum  Day. 


39 


Corporal  Day 

She  had  this  hankerin'  arter  the  lad, 
An'  ye  knows  what  a  mis'ble  time  she  's  had 
Sence  he  were  wounded  thar  to  Ball's  Bluff." 
Cries  Father  Hobb,  "Why,  sure  enough! 
Thar's  no  knowin'  what  a  gal  may  do 
When  she  falls  in  love  with  a  boy  in  blue; 
P'rhaps  she's  'listed  herself  —  who  knows?  — 
An'  is  nussin'  'im  now  —  in  sojer's  clo'es." 
"Pshaw!    no  indeed!"  growls  Deacon  Dodd; 
"  For  Absalom  Day  is  under  the  sod,  — 
Bein'  shot  and  killed  two  months  ago; 
She's  run  away  with  the  quack,  I  know." 
And  so  they  talked,  and  the  scandal  spread, 
Till  Caroline's  name  was  a  name  of  dread; 
But  I  dare  not  tell  one-quarter  they  said, 
As   Charity,   too,   had  apparently  fled. 


And  now  let  us  haste  to  the  South  again, 

Where  bullets  are  flying  like  winter  rain, 

And  fields  are  red  with  the  gore  of  the  slain. 

Ay,  this  is  War!     The  ground,  you  see, 

Is  thickly  strewn;  but  follow  me. 

Horse  and  rider,  wagon  and  wheel, 

Cannon  and  caisson,  leather  and  steel, 

And  a  thousand  nameless,  shattered  things 

That  frenzied  Battle  in  fury  flings, 

Lie  scattered  in  wild  confusion  round, — 

A  nation's  wreck  bestrews  the  ground. 

The  rising  moon,  like  a  blood-red  shield, 

Throws  ghastly  shadows  athwart  the  field. 

Our  footsteps  cling  to  the  pitchy  mud; 

The  kneaded  clay  is  soaked  in  blood. 

And  lifeless  fingers  seem  to  grasp, 

And  rigid  hands  in  agony  clasp, 

And  Hate  on  many  a  marble  face 

Forever  is  stamped  in  Death's  embrace. 

But  fear  you  not.     Of  this  mighty  throng, 

Not  a  man  may  arise  to  do  you  wrong; 

For  the  tempest  of  Battle  is  hushed  to  a  breath, 

And  Victory  sleeps  on  the  bosom  of  Death. 


Corporal  Day 

"You  ask  to  be  shown  the  hospital-shed?" 
To  a  trembling  girl,  the  surgeon  said. 
"Follow  my  lead  —  I'll  show  the  way. 
Fearful  indeed  was  the  work  today. 
We're  almost  there.     One's  senses  swim, 
And  things  look  weird,  unearthly,  dim. 
Beware  that  trench!     Too  nigh  the  rim, 
You're  apt  to  slip.     It  must  be  Love 
That  brings  you  here  like  a  messenger-dove, — 
Here,  in  the  midst  of  the  mould'ring  dead; 
Here,  to  the  hideous  hospital-shed;, 
Here,  where  Woman  should  never  be; 
Here,  with  horrors  she  dares  not  see. 
Yet,  like  an  angel,  calm  and  sweet, 
She  comes  —  she  comes  with  winged  feet. 
O  God!     She  comes  to  a  hell  like  this, — 
Wand'ring  away  from  heavenly  bliss; 
A  beam  of  light  in  a  dungeon  dank; 
A  blooming  rose  among  brambles  rank; 
A  single  star,  through  storm-clouds  riven; 
A  link  that  binds  us  still  to  Heaven. 
See  —  here  is  the  place  —  the  hospital  shed! 
Here  are  the  living  and  there  —  the  dead. 
No  wonder  you  start  and  tremble  so, — 
'Tis  a  frightful  hole.     Do  you  think  you'll  know 


42 


A  New  England  Idyl 


His  face  again?     In  this  stifling  room, 

Scores  are  waiting  their  welcome  doom,  — 

Wishing  for  death 

At  every  breath, 

And  envying  those  who  are  in  their  tomb. 

There!     See  that  man  in  the  filthy  hay  — 

Pale  and  ghastly  and  wasted  away; 

They  tell  me  his  name  is  Absalom  Day. 

Alas,  poor  boy !     One  breath  of  air, 

One  cup  of  water,  cool  and  clear, 

From  his  mountain-home  —  could  we  but  bear 

To  his  livid  lips,  his  burning  brow ! 

One  deed,  one  word  of  kindness  now,  — - 

One  gentlest  touch  of  a  human  hand, 

That,  he  may  feel  in  a  Christian  land, — 

One  act  of  love,  however  small, 

Ere  yet  the  spirit  burst  its  thrall 

To  join  the  ranks  at  the  general  call 

Of  the  last  great  Muster  Day. 
But  no !     He  must  sink  to  a  nameless  grave 
In  the  land  whose  honor  he  dies  to  save; 
For,  ere  the  morrow,  the  guards  will  come 
And,  finding  his  blue  lips  cold  and  dumb, 

Will  hustle  him  out  of  the  way." 


43 


Corporal  Day 


The  morning  dawns,  and  Absalom's  eyes 
Languidly  open  in  dreamy  surprise,  — 
Surprise  to  find  that  lingering  Death 
Still  delays  to  stifle  his  breath,  — 
Causes  him  still  to  groan  in  pain, — 
Rendering  all  his  longings  vain. 
"What!     Still  alive!     'Tis  coming  now! 
I  feel  the  cold  sweat  bead  my  brow. 
I  see  a  vision,  bright  and  sweet: 
I  seem  to  see  the  village  street,  — 
My  own  loved  home  —  I  know  it  well. 
I  hear  —  I  hear  the  Sabbath-bell. 
I  seem  to  hear  the  murmuring  rills; 
I  seem  to  see  the  dear  old  hills  — 
The  church  —  the  store  —  the  mill.     How  plain 
Before  my  mind  they  come  again ! 
Is  this  a  dream?     Or  am  I  dead? 
An  angel  bends  above  my  head. 
She  smiles!     How  sweet!     She  fans  my  brow 
With  fragrant  wing.     What!     Can  it  be? 
Or  do  I  dream,  and  seem  to  see? 
It  must!     Great  Heaven,  'tis  she  — 
My  love!" 

Ah,  is  he  dreaming  now? 
No,  no!     The  visions  fade  away  — 


44 


A  New  England  Idyl 


His  arms  are  round  his  Carrie  Gray. 

"  O  Woman,  in  our  hours  of  ease, 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please; 
But,  when  affliction  clouds  the  brow, 
A  ministering  angel  thou  !  " 
This  sentiment  you'll  find  in  Scott, 
And  in  your  hearts,  if  you  have  got 
Hearts  that  have  ever  known  in  life 
A  mother's  love,  a  sister's  care, 
Or,  what  is  still  more  angel-rare, 
The  deep  devotion  of  a  wife. 


Excuse  this  digression.     Permit  me  to  say 
That  I  was  in  Blackberry  Centre  one  day, 
Not  very  long  after  the  railroad  was  laid; 
But  oh,  what  a  change  the  years  had  made ! 
The  village  didn't  look  half  so  sweet, 
Nor  the  people  near  so  happy  and  neat; 
For  city  shoddy  had  found  them  out 
And  turned  their  heads  to  the  right  about. 
The  girls  were  following  Fashion's  tracks, 
With  bunches  of  ribbon  pinned  to  their  backs; 
And  the  boys  endeavored  to  dazzle  their  eyes 
In  shop-worn  suits  and  harlequin  ties. 


45 


Corporal  Day 

The  river  had  shrunk  to  a  stony  trench, 

And  half  the  people  jabbered  in  French. 

Well,  I  thought  I'd  just  step  into  the  store 

Where  all  was  sold  and  a  little  more, 

When,  lo  and  behold!   'twas  the  same  as  before 

The  pork  and  peppermints,  pens  and  ink; 

But  out  of  the  demijohn  —  nothing  to  drink, — 

Nothing  stronger  than  ginger  beer; 

For  really  the  law  's  enforced  up  there, 

And  nothing  's  imbibed  by  any,  (except 

By  those  who  know  where  the  liquor  is  kept) . 

And  who  should  I  see  but  Dodd  and  Hobb 

And  queer  old  Uncle  Nathan  Cobb, — 

Not  quite  so  chipper,  of  course,  I  found ; 

But  able  still  to  be  up  and  around. 

And  there  were  the  rest  of  them,  too,  as  before  — 

The  loafers  that  haunt  a  country  store, 

On  box  and  barrel,  and  round  the  door; 

And  behind  the  counter,  brisk  and  gay, 

Plump  and  jolly,  —  who,  do  you  say? 

Yes;  you  have  it  —  Corporal  Day! 

"This  is  Corporal  Day,"  said  I, 

"Or  else  his  spirit  that  I  see  here?" 
"  Himself,"  quoth  he,  with  a  twinkling  eye, 

"  In  flesh  and  blood,  and  never  you  fear." 


46 


A  New  England  Idyl 


"A  clerk  again,  you  poor  old  —  boss?" 
"  Why,  yes,"  said  Ab,  "  both  clerk  and  boss. 
I  own  the  store; 
And,  what  is  more, 

I  own  that  cottage  across  the  way." 
"You  don't!"  said  I 
With  an  envious  sigh;, 

"  For  that  's  the  cottage  of  Caroline  Gray." 
"  It  was,"  said  he,  "  but  I'm  happy  to  tell 
That  I  own  Carrie  herself  as  well." 
Cries  Nathan  Cobb,  "That  ain't  quite  true; 
For  some  folks  sez  as  she  owns  you." 
Here  Absalom  blushed,  and  Dodd  and  Hobb, 
And  queer  old  Uncle  Nathan  Cobb, 
And  every  loafer  round  the  store 
Went  into  fits,  with  a  thundering  roar. 
"  Why,  didn't  you  know,"  quoth  Deacon  Dodd, 
Tipping  the  others  a  wink  and  a  nod,  — 
"  Didn't  you  know  that  Carrie  and  he 
Have  sot  up  shop  —  now,  let  me  see  — 
I  'most  forget,  so  fast  time  flies; 
But  look!     D'ye  see  them  three  little  babs, 
There  by  the  doorstep  makin'  mud-pies?" 


47 


Corporal  Day 

"  I  do,"  said  I.     "  Wall;  them  's  all  Ab's." 

Of  course,  after  that,  I  had  nothing  to  say, 
Except  to  congratulate  CORPORAL  DAY. 


LlJbKAKl 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-17m-8,'55(B3339s4)444 


THE  L1BKAKX 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
1,08  ANGELES 


PS 


St.   John  - 


UCLA-Young  Research   Library 

PS2749   .S142C 


27U9       Corporal 
Sll|2c    


L  009  602  445  0 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  218041    o 


PS 

27U9 
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246  MAR  "51 


